Strife/Issue 07
Issue 07 is the first issue of Volume 02 of Strife, It was written by CamTheWoot and was published on July 8th, 2014. ---- Issue 07 Previous: Issue 06 Next: Issue 08 ---- Rook ---- It had become dark now, nothing much had changed for Maurice Rook. He still sat him the dark, at the end of his tether, Wayne and Duncan irritating him. So much so, that the idea throwing the two of them out for the Shadows to consume was rather tempting. He was still looking out the window, hoping for any sign of life, Vincent or Nancy maybe? Hell, Rook didn't like him but Lawrence would be a nice face to see. "Oi Rook!" Wayne called over to him. He and Duncan were still in the corner, smoking the last of the cigarettes they'd brought with them. Ever whiff the took sourced a cloud of black smoke, forcing everyone in the room into a coughing fit. "What is it?" He sighed rubbing the side of his head, soothing his headache. "See anything out there?" "No, nothing yet. It's too dark, it's raining... No chance." "Aw, that's a shame," he replied "Looks like we're gonna run out of fags." He and Duncan sat back visibly bored. "So, what are we gonna do then?" Rook opened his mouth, before getting interrupted my another inane comment by Duncan. "Eh bro, I have a question." He said. Rook sat back and listened to the two. "Yeah, sure. Fukin' shoot." "So," Duncan continued. "I know you 'ave and fuckin' girlfriend and what not, but say you didn't. Here's my question, would you shag Nancy?" "Oh for God's sake," Rook sighed in disgust, looking back out the window. "Oi hard-ass," Duncan sneered. "It's a legit question." He turned back to Wayne, finally stubbing out his last cigarette. "So, would you?" "Pfft, yeah." Wayne chuckled in reply. "Is that even a bloody question? Mate, I would smash that!" Like his brother he butted out his last smoke, with a nodding grin larger than life, everyone there knew what was going on in his head during those few seconds. "Oh 'ay, what about you?" "Eh, not too sure, dude." "The fuck?! Why? Dude, have you friggin' seen her? She's a ten out of ten!" "I don't know, probably 'cos she looks like she's fourteen." "The fuck do you mean?" Wayne replied with an eyebrow lifted "Well, she's about as tall as a fourteen year old. She acts like a fourteen year old. Looks like a fourteen year old." Looking side the side he cupped his chest with his hands, "She's fukin' built like a fourteen year old. I dunno, it would be like bangin' a fourteen year old." "So?" Wayne scoffed. "You lost yours to fourteen year old bird, mate. Nancy's like twenty something. I say she's fair game." "Hardly fair game, take a gazer at 'er arse and the boss will take your eye out." "Eh, true." Wayne laughed sitting back. "Only 'cos his head is halfway up it." "Okay you you two please shut up?" Rook said in rasp, looking away from the window. "Jesus Christ, Nancy is a friend of ours. Show some respect." "Oi, oi." Wayne got up, wiggling his finger at Rook like he knew what he was talking about. "MISTER Maurice Rook - if that is your real name! I will have you know, my dear brother and I were talking about an incredibly important issue. DO NOT try and silence the masses, good sir!" Rook looked back at him, unimpressed and finding himself incapable of smiling. "You're a fucking moron." "How dare you. I will not except talk-back from a man who is quite clearly impotent!" Wayne replied, still in that insulting, pseudo-professor voice. Duncan was laughing his head off in the corner. "At least someone finds this funny" Rook thought to himself. "FURTHER MORE!" Wayne added. "I feel this I don't want you talking about Nancy demeanor of yours. IS IN FACT proof the hypothesis that you secretly want to join in on our conversation and express your deep, cock-wobbling lusty sex dreams of one, Nancy Brodmir." "Wayne," Rook replied. "I'm going to ask you to stop, before I step on you." "Oh lighten up your prudish bastard." Duncan called from the corner. "I'm not a prude you pig eyed sack of shit. I just have some respect." "Bloody hell," Wayne sighed. "Rook shove your respect up your arse from whence it came. Come on dude, you're too black to be a white knight, it doesn't suit you. Now, this is the question of a lifetime, your one big chance to express yourself. Your whole life has been leading up to this! MAURICE ROOK... Would you - or would you not - shag Nancy?" "Wayne I'm serious now, sit down or I'll brake you legs." "Okay I get it," Wayne stuttered, quickly sitting back down with his brother. "He totally would shag her though," he whispered. "Probably best he didn't answer," Duncan replied, also in a murmur. "Rook's a big black guy and Nancy is... y'know - like... a midget. If they shagged he'd tear her in half." Rook stepped forward and hushed the two of them, pointing out the window. "Look, freaking look." He whispered. Then three of them looked out the same boarded window. A manhole sad in the middle of the street, barely viable in the rain. It began to shake and make noises, until finally it was lifted off the ground from underneath. The three of them gasped when a familiar grey hand appeared from under the iron disk. Cloaked in blood, was a set aof tattered green sleeves. ---- Nancy ---- Only half an hour earlier, Nancy sat alone, screaming at Vincent. Pathetically attempting to wake him up. The man was covered in his brothers blood, from head to toe, drenched. A retched stench emanated from him, such a vile, fratricidic miasma. No matter how much she shook him it made no difference, Vincent may as well have been comatose. "Well that's just great," she thought to herself, moving away from him. She looked around the room, the walls and floor were laced with Lawrence's blood and his mangled corpse laid in the middle of the room. She tried her best to ignore it, the purple skinned, twisted abomination that she helped create. "Sorry Lawrence," she mumbled looking away from him. She thought it best to search the room, perhaps finding something to help the two of them. That she did, upon entering Vincent's bedroom, her eyes were immediately drawn to a hunting rifle, carefully leant against the windowsill. It was instantly recognized as one of theirs, Barnes Fooks had taken to tagging each weapon, in the case of one going missing, plus - it made them much easier to sort. "Why did Lawrence have this with him?" She said aloud to herself, inspecting the rifle. The window it was leant upon had a perfect view of Gresham Street and just about ever street that connected to it, a full box of bullets sat on a table next to it. Nancy picked up the rifle and looked trough the sights, Gresham Street was a mere shadow of its former self, it seemed suitable the the pasts shadow would be filled with the shambling, undead corpses they'd all taken to calling as such. "This is pointless," she sighed putting the rifle back down. I rustling noise sounded from the next room, she ran in expecting Vincent to be up and around, closer the hoping, really. Instead she saw a grey malformed Lawrence shaking on the floor, attempting the drag itself towards Vincent with his usable hand. For a second she saw him as alive, but as the new same gave, he was only a shadow. Slowly shaking her head in disgust she lifted Vincent by his shoulders and to the best of her limited strength, dragged him into the hallway. Giving one last look at Lawrence she gave one last ponder to the man she cared for a long time ago, the man her father saw as a son. She'd grown up around the Myers's, only as she gave him that one last look did she realize Vincent wasn't the only one to loose a brother. She was careful to leave the door open, eventually Lawrence would escape the room to mingle with the other shadows. "Nancy," a weak voice came from Vincent, getting dragged like a sack of potatoes. In a fit of surprise she let go of Vincent, letting him fall to the floor with a great THUD. Quickly apologizing she fell to his site, drawing her palm across his forehead, checking for heat. "Are you okay?" "To tell you the truth I've been better," he mumbled, eyes still shut. For the most part his voice seemed back to normal, of course he sounded allot more tired than usual, but the eerie whisper from before had gone. Opening his eyes to the decrepit hallway around him, Nancy could see the storm had left him. His eyes before - like years of hatred all focus into two light green seas of anger. He looked down at his bloodied shirt, then up at Nancy. "I'm covered in blood." "I know," she murmured. "Do you know why?" "Yes." "Are you alright," said Nancy, following Vincent with her eyes as he got onto his feet. "I wouldn't expect you to be." "I'm fine," he replied with a solemn titter. "Are you sure, you just killed your br-" "Nancy, I am fine. I don't know why you expect otherwise. Yes, Lawrence is dead, but I don't recall you getting teary eyed when Janet fell off her perch." He spoke in that same angry rasp Nancy had grown familiar to, she remained speechless looking at him. "I would expect you over anyone to know how little one can care about a sibling." She did not respond, once again she tried her best to look away from him. She could feel him, frisking her with his eyes, looking her over completely. "Where's the lockbox?" He asked with an eyebrow raised. "What lockbox?" She replied. Vincent looked back at her with a face of disappointment. "I assume that noise in there is Lawrence's shadow?" "It is." "Why is his Shadow been left?" "You mentioned this being Rowena's work? Meaning she'll investigate. We don't need to hide the body if it will drag itself away." Vincent chuckled at the remark, crossing his arms. "Good answer," he replied. "And now I've got a lockbox to dispose of," he looked over at the open door, Nancy could hear Lawrence's scratching getting louder and louder. "Give me your knife and follow me," he said with a grin. "I've got an idea." Sure enough she did, pulling her knife from its holster and handing it over to him. He snatched it off her and walked back into the room. "What are you doing?" Nancy called to him, as he picked up the tiny metal box from the table. "Hold Lawrence down," he said stiffly, without batting an eye. Nancy awkwardly walked over to her dead friend, slowing stomping her foot onto his neck, holding him down. He attempted to bite her several times, but at no point came close. He tried to move his arms, but like before, it was in no way effective. Vincent knelt down next to Lawrence and pulled up his jacket and shirt, exposing his back. "What would you say, if I told you I could make Lawrence take the evidence with him?" He said, with a face glowing like the metal on the edge of his blade. "You're not," she gasped holding her hand over her mouth. "Oh, I am." With that he dug the knife into Lawrence's back, carving a large vertical slit, running down right of his spine. The ghastly noises that came from him, the worst thing to Nancy was that Lawrence didn't react. He could no longer feel it, Vincent could do what he liked to him and he would never know. Vincent new this as well. He pulled the cut wide open, like a gaping hole, took the box and inserted it in. It was certainly small enough to fit, snugly as well, the wound fell back together and the box was lost, he humorously shook his head as he pulled Laurence's shirt and jacket back over. "Clever," Nancy stuttered. Although; she admittedly did enjoy the idea, despite how morbid she found it. Nancy Brodmir always was one for dark humor. "That's what they call 'Two for the price of one,'" he gave short laugh, wiped the blade off on Lawrence and gave it back to Nancy. "Let's go." He walked past her, out of the room and she followed. Noting how he never even looked back. The two of them walked down that same dark hallway, approaching the same fight of stairs Vincent used to walked up and down every day. "I assume we're getting out the same way you came in?" He asked. "Of course." "Good," he nodded. "That sewage system has been nothing but an ally to me." "How did you know I used the pipe?" "Oh please, I do have a sense of smell you know. Hopefully the rain will wash it off you." Nancy sniffed and drew fake tears. "You really know how to sweet talk a lady, don't you?" "I was married you know?" He huffed as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "You should bloody know, you were one of the bridesmaids." "I was also fourteen. I can't remember what I ate for breakfast let alone what I was doing a decade ago." She smiled and looked at him "Besides, I remember finding it boring." "Boring? How so?" "A Dothraki wedding without at least 3 deaths is considered a dull affair." "Don't you go quoting my favorite book on me, young lady!" Vincent chuckled. "A hold exclusive rights of 'Song of Ice and Fire references. In that regard; 'there are no men like me. There's only me.'" Nancy gave a faint laugh followed by an even more inconspicuous blush. The two remained silent in an awkward journey until they arrived at a door. After a nod of approval; Nancy opened it revealing a small, dark cellar. The walls weren't even made out of metal and yet they seemed rusted, perhaps the was just the rot on the forty year old graying wallpaper. Vincent stepped forward, a small manhole sat dead center, now that was genuine rust, he wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled it open. He groaned in disgust as he wiped his hands down his jacket. "Ladies first, I suppose." "You're too kind," she took a look inside, only seeing darkness. She knew what was at the bottom but that didn't help her. He took a gulp, trying her best to think of a witty line as she stood over that dark void, but found herself unable. She dropped down into a long tunnel, a groggy and damp old place, with a stream of putrid green water running down the middle. "Looks like the Thames," Vincent giggled, dropping down behind her. "I would laugh if that wasn't so accurate." "Nancy, please. Ever heard the phrase 'It's funny because it's true?'" "I have, that doesn't mean I should respect it." "You're just full of good answers today," he smiled. The two of them started walking dead, following the walls with no light to guide them. Nancy could feel the aged moss running through her fingers until eventually hitting cold steal. "Got it," she grinned at the idea of getting out into the streets. "I suppose I best go first," Vincent said grabbing onto what he found to be a ladder. "Last time I saw this street it was crawling with shadows." She could tell Vincent was trying his best to look at him when he was speaking. His broken glasses giving a slight glint of sunlight. "You're such a gentleman." "And no one is more chivalrous than I." He sarcastically muttered, halfway up the ladder. He pressed his hand against the manhole blocking their exit, lifting it, finally giving some kind of light. Nancy watched him look around and she regretted that light, as she only felt fear as she watched Vincent's face break a slow grin. To be continued... ---- Characters ---- Vincent Myers Nancy Brodmir Maurice Rook Wayne Mitchell Duncan Mitchell Lawrence Myers (Undead) Rowena Myers (Mentioned) Terrence Brodmir (Mentioned) Janet Brodmir (Mentioned) ---- Deaths ---- ---- Trivia This issue is a re-write of Strife/Issue 07 (Original). Category:Issues Category:Strife Issues Category:Strife Category:Pestilence Category:CamTheWoot